


SANTA?!

by LostCol



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Holidays, Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexy Santa, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostCol/pseuds/LostCol
Summary: Armie has a holiday romp.
Relationships: Armie Hammer/Other(s), Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	SANTA?!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoliePrudence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoliePrudence/gifts).



> I'm.... just going to have to let this one speak for itself...
> 
> I left out any detailed physical description of Santa so that everyone can picture him how they want, but I’ve included my own personal description in the end notes, if you’re curious.  
> Much love to JoliePrudence for her inspiration (i.e. blame) and encouragement (i.e. peer pressure). <3  
> I really don’t need to say this, but: these are fictionalized versions of real people (and mythological figures...lol); story is 100% fiction... obviously?

“Fuck, I’m horny,” Armie murmured, rubbing his hands over his face and back through his hair and blinking his eyes open. From somewhere nearby, a deep, jolly voice chuckled.

“I’d certainly hope so, Armand. You’re not here to play checkers.”

Armie’s eyes popped wide open and he took in his surroundings, from, he was disconcerted to realize, flat on his back on an unfamiliar, massive sleigh bed. A small swoop of seasickness brought the realization that the bed was slowly rotating… beneath a gentle cascade of glitter coming from somewhere up near the ceiling. Armie sat up abruptly, shaking an obnoxious amount of red and gold glitter out of his hair and startling the man who had been sitting on the edge of the bed and causing him to slide off with a startled “Oof!”

Armie cautiously got to his hands and knees and quickly decided to ignore the fact that he was buck-ass naked in an unfamiliar place for the time being and crawled to the side of the bed. Swingling wildly between terror and how-the-fuck-much-did-I-drink-tonight, he peered over the edge.

.....

.....

_“SANTA?!”_

The big man himself chuckled and hauled himself back upright, then stuck out his hand to shake.

“Armand. But you prefer Armie, right?”

Armie’s mouth gaped and he stared unblinking at the man in front of him, a flush creeping over his cheeks as he became embarrassed for assuming that some random bear in a Santa outfit _was_ Santa. Because Santa doesn’t exist.

Right?

Of fucking course not.

Armie scoffed at himself for even considering the possibility and started wondering just how much he’d had to drink at that stupid post-Christmas look-at-all-the-food-and-alcohol-we-have-left-over party Timmy had conned him into throwing. Speaking of, where the fuck was that little minx?

Realizing he’d silently trying to bully his brain back to reality for an awkwardly long time, Armie stuck out his now unpleasantly clammy hand and grasped this random dude’s hand, giving it a solid shake.

“Welcome to my home, Armie!” the Santa-bear intoned in a pleasantly deep, booming voice.

At that, Armie ripped his gaze from the Santa impersonator in front of him and cast his eyes around, taking in the cavernous bedroom that looked like it’d been ripped from the pages of North Pole Digest. They were both currently on the aforementioned rotating platform on which the enormous sleigh bed perched, covered in layers of sumptuous, cozy, red, gold, and plaid fabrics. The platform was in the center of a large sunken pit that was ringed by five steps up to the outer level, and framed by six golden, twisting pillars stretching to the high ceiling. A low-pile black carpet with gold flecks covered the entire floor, with several plush faux-fir rugs fanned out across the sunken area surrounding the bed platform. The entire room was bathed in a warm reddish glow that didn’t appear to have any physical source. A massive round skylight in the center of the ceiling revealed a clear black sky absolutely awash in twinkling stars. The whole scene really was breathtaking, and just a little kitschy, like the vibe of the North Pole in that movie The Santa Clause that Armie had watched every December growing up.

“Well, Armie, would you like a tour? I hope the way you’re staring means you like the room. It’s my favorite room here, and I’m sure you’d agree,” Santa said with a tiny bit of a leer and a wink, and it somehow didn’t strike Armie as creepy as all hell, like he suspected it should have.

“I… I mean sure, why the hell not?”

At some point he just had to make the decision to say fuck it, right? He figured he was either in a coma (maybe he fell off the roof stringing lights or something. Never mind that he’s never strung lights from the roof in his life), in a weird as fuck but kind of amazing dream, or… had legitimately lost his mind. Either way, when you’re thrust into your dirtiest of dirty secret kinks (a kink you’ve only ever told one person, letting it slip out when you were drunk and then swearing him to silence until his dying day), you’re allowed to see how it plays out, right?

So Santa ( _fuck it, ‘Santa’ it is_ ) took a still very naked and apparently perpetually half hard Armie on a tour of the beautiful, lavish bedroom, proudly showing off the shocking array of sex paraphernalia he had lovingly displayed in the glass-fronted armoires lining the upper level.

“Oh wow. Are we going to—”

Santa cut him off with a laugh and a casual, “Oh my dear boy, no, not this time. Maybe we’ll work our way up to it.”

“‘Not _this_ t—'”

“And over here, look at this, I’m particularly proud of the pneumatic cookie tube I had connected from the kitchens. And these taps next to it dispense hot chocolate, milk, water, and whiskey. We should save the sweets for later, but care for a whiskey or some water before we begin?”

 _Begin what, exactly?_ Armie wondered, though his nakedness gave him a pretty good idea.

They continued their circuit around the room while they sipped their whiskeys. Santa pointed out the glitter dispenser on the ceiling that periodically sent a cascade of multicolored glitter (silver, gold, white, red, and green, of course) down over the sunken level. When Armie raised an eyebrow and glanced skeptically at him, Santa chuckled and shrugged. “I like the whimsy of it. Sue me.”

Farther long the upper level they came upon a shiny, candy cane-striped pole bolted to the floor and ceiling, and Santa laughed outright when Armie turned another questioning – and slightly flushed – gaze on him. “Some of the more limber elves enjoy putting on shows for me, and for each other. And it’s a good workout for them; helps work off all the rich food they’re constantly gobbling down.” He turned a fond smile on Armie, his eyes twinkling, and Armie couldn’t help but wonder about the nature of Santa’s relationship with these elves he clearly cherished. He turned his face away when he realized he was blushing even harder, but Santa’s snort told him he hadn’t been fast enough.

They grabbed another whiskey each before heading back down to the lower level, where Santa explained the rotating platform. It hovered about an inch off the floor and extended a couple of feet around the edge of the bed on all sides; “Better for leverage, you know,” Santa explained with a cheeky wink. It was powered by a heavy duty but completely silent motor under the floor, and Santa had been happy to find that no amount of gymnastic activity above would knock it off-kilter.

So, two whiskeys down and feeling pretty good, Armie found himself reclining against a frankly ridiculous amount of oversized pillows piled against the headboard. He was a bit flabbergasted to find himself watching Santa remove his layers of clothing piece by piece. While gyrating and doing the moonwalk. While the most raucous rendition of Jingle Bell Rock that Armie had ever heard filled the room thanks to the built-in sound system.

And he was freaking _loving_ it, his wide eyes glued to Santa’s shimmying body and a huge, open-mouthed grin on his face that made him look like an excited little boy on Christmas morning. He guessed maybe that was the point.

Santa _finally_ kicked off his pants – after slowly, teasingly, pushing them down over his ass, winking at Armie over his shoulder while he bent forward slightly and pushed his generous peach toward the giddy man – and when he turned around, Armie gaped.

Santa laughed heartily at his shell-shocked expression. “What’s wrong, Armand? Expecting a candy cane dick, were you? You wouldn’t be the first, my dear boy.”

Armie snapped his mouth shut and unconsciously wiped the bit of drool that had escaped off his chin. Flushing, he stuttered, “No, I—a candy cane—no, I just—you’re just—”

“Magnificent, I know.”

And he _was_ , good lord he was. Long and thick and smooth, his balls large but not saggy, his cock a beautiful shade of pink that was just slightly darker than the surrounding skin. And Armie couldn’t _wait_ to have it inside him.

After a few moments of silence, Santa snapped his fingers in front of his cock to bring Armie out of his trance, shaking with laughter all the while and waiting until Armie managed to fix his eyes back on Santa’s face.

“Now, Armie. As I’m sure you know, you’ve always been on the nice list. Even during those rebellious years, you’ve always been a kind, good-hearted person at your core. Tonight, however, I’m excited to find out if you’re going to be my _good boy_ ,” Santa’s voice shifted to a lower, more gravely register, “or my _naughty boy_.”

Armie had the presence of mind to groan at the cheesiness, and at the unwelcome reminder of his innocent childhood while he was busy staring at a giant cock, but he quickly snapped back into the fantasy and cleared his throat.

“What would you prefer, Santa?” 

Before he knew what was happening, Armie found himself bent over the headboard, his wrists bound to it with shimmery silver garland, his cheek resting on the back of his hands, which were desperately gripping the bedframe while Santa swatted his ass with a flat wooden angel. Much like the kind his mother used to hang beside the front door every December. Armie shuddered and quickly shoved the thought away, focusing on Santa’s large, callused hands (from holding the reindeer reins, Armie surmised) running over his ass cheeks as they became pinker and more tender with each strike of the angel. Armie couldn’t help the grunts and groans that escaped as his skin became more and more sensitive, and after the first few blows, he dropped his head through his arms and let it hang down so he could watch the action through his slightly spread legs. As well as he could, anyway, with his eyes squeezing closed reflexively every time the angel made contact and his hard, weeping cock jerking and swaying directly in his line of sight.

On the sixth strike, Armie moaned “mmmm _Santa_ ,” with a little gasp at the end, and Santa groaned and dropped the angel, bending over Armie’s back and wrapping his arms around the sculpted waist, plastering his hairy chest to Armie’s warm skin. He casually brushed his hand over Armie’s painfully hard cock to check the state of him, not wanting him to come quite yet (though he had seriously considered attempting to spank the glorious creature to orgasm, which is always a fun time and never fails to fill him with the glow of accomplishment), and he was pleased when his hand came away slightly sticky. Close to the brink, then.

He gently gripped Armie’s hair and pulled his head back up through his arms and Armie, still panting, rested his cheek back on his hand. He placed his lips next to Armie’s ear and whispered, “Looks like you’re going to be a _good boy_ for me by being so deliciously naughty.” He squeezed Armie when he felt him shudder and let out the tiniest whimper at both the words and at Santa’s warm breath ghosting over his cheek. “Let’s slow things down a little, okay? Ease into what I expect will be an unforgettable night for us both.”

Santa untied Armie’s wrists and then helped him (and his trembling limbs) onto his side, his head nestled comfortably among the few pillows Santa hadn’t flung to the floor in his haste to start spanking. Laying behind him, Santa wrapped an arm around Armie’s waist and started to gently dance his fingertips over his soft, hairy chest and stomach while he nibbled and sucked lightly on Armie’s neck and shoulder. Armie let out a soft sigh as he relaxed into the plush bedding, reveling in the slight sting he still felt on his ass, but before he could relax too much and start to drift, he felt Santa’s deft fingers slide between his cheeks, cool and obviously coated in lube.

Santa gently teased Armie’s hot hole before slowly sinking one finger in, bringing his other hand down to rub calming circles on Armie’s belly while he worked his hole open. Armie moaned and wiggled his ass further back into Santa’s lap, not wanting to beg but wanting _more please more_. Santa chuckled fondly at Armie’s wordless insistence and worked a second finger into the silky tight heat, eliciting a soft cry and a spurt of precum when he crooked his fingers to stroke Armie’s prostate.

Finally, _finally_ , when Armie reached his limit and gasped, “Santa, _please_ ,” sounding on the verge of tears, Santa slowly pulled his fingers out, giving them a little torturous twist on the way, and wasted no time slicking up his majestic cock and sliding right in, the two men groaning in synchrony as Santa settled his hips against Armie’s firm, round ass. Santa rolled his hips almost sluggishly, pushing a long low moan from Armie’s lips before he picked up the pace slightly, fucking Armie slowly and sweetly, caressing his face and smiling when he nuzzled into the rough palm.

“That’s a good boy,” Santa murmured, breath warm on Armie’s ear, and Armie whimpered, rolling his hips back to impale himself deeper.

They fucked languorously, a respite from the wham-bam-thank-you-Sir action earlier – and the action no doubt to come – each lost in their own thoughts. Santa was lost in a _mmmm, tight, hot, soft, smells so good, such a good boy_ haze, while Armie’s thoughts were a very understandable jumble of _holy fucking shit, Santa’s fucking me, Santa fucking Claus is fucking me, holy shit holy shit, holy—._

After a few quiet minutes, Santa shifted his thrusts slightly in order to nail Armie’s prostate with every roll of his hips, and as soon as Armie started up an unbroken string of moans, Santa reached around to squeeze Armie’s leaking erection. He swiped his palm over the head before spreading the precum down the throbbing cock, prompting Armie to let out a loud, helpless groan and start thrusting into Santa’s hand, too far gone to care that he was messing up their rhythm, now just single-mindedly focused on reaching his release. No longer in the mood to tease, Santa increased his pace one more time until the sound of skin slapping against skin rivalled Armie’s increasingly loud moans, and Santa placed his lips against Armie’s ear and growled, “Come for me now, sweet boy.” He only waited long enough to hear Armie’s shout and feel his body tense before he let himself go, filling the condom at the same time that Armie spurted over the blankets, continuing to stroke Armie until he ran dry.

Breathing hard, Santa let himself relax against Armie’s back, rolling Armie’s pliant body forward until Santa was able to rest his flushed cheek on Armie’s sweaty, heaving shoulder blade.

They rested for a few minutes before Armie started wriggling his way out of the wet spot he was lying in. Santa grabbed him and pulled him up against the headboard, pushed the soiled blanket to the floor, and then flopped back down. He laughed when he looked over at a very rumpled, dazed Armie.

“Want to break for a snack? I could go for something sweet.”

Armie laughed in disbelief, hit by another wave of what-the-actual-fuck, before his empty stomach made itself known. “I could definitely stand to refuel after that workout. What’d you have in mind?”

Santa pushed a button on the back of the headboard and boomed, “GERALD!”, looking toward the set of French doors on the upper level that led out of the room. 

Armie barely had time to crinkle his brow in confusion – _Gerald?_ – before an elf – an actual goddamn elf – entered through the doors, looking calm and composed and with just the right amount of sprightly spring in his step. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a Timmy-elf, which Armie realized he’d been half expecting given the what-the-fuckness of the entire situation, but this was not (as far as he knew) a movie, so any Santa-Timmy-himself threesome fantasies he may or may not have been pondering since arriving in Santa fucking Claus’s bedroom, sadly, apparently would not be happening.

The disappointment lasted for about seven seconds before Santa turned to him and raised a brow. “Cookies? Hot chocolate? More whiskey?” and Armie’s stomach rumbled.

“I never say no to cookies. And how do you feel about whiskey _in_ the hot chocolate?”

Santa smiled and winked and chuckled, “My kind of guy,” before he turned to Gerald, who was waiting at the top of the steps, and made the request. The elf was quite good-looking, Armie noted, while he watched him move around the area where the pneumatic tubes entered the room. He was a bit on the short side, he’d probably only come up to about Armie’s nipples, but he was obviously fit and had a lovely, juicy bubble butt. His elf outfit – green and silver with tassels and fringe – was extremely form-fitting, and Armie didn’t know if that was Gerald’s choice or Santa’s, but he appreciated it. He had soft looking golden-blonde hair that just brushed his collar and glinted in the low lighting in the room, and when he came closer, Armie saw that he had the most beautiful blue eyes, pretty similar to his own, actually. Gerald placed a tray on the bed – “Anything else, Sir?” “If you could turn off the glitter dispenser that would be helpful, sweetheart. We don’t want to get it in our food.” – and when he beamed at them before turning to do as asked, Armie was struck by the power of his smile.

(And to be honest, Armie was relieved by the request. He’d been slightly worried that if they kept fucking under the rain of glitter, at some point he would have sucked in a huge lungful of the stuff, and there’s nothing less sexy mid-thrust than a hacking fit.)

“So… Gerald?” Armie prompted once the elf had left, not really sure what he was asking, but finding himself curious. I mean, if they couldn’t have a Santa-Timmy-him threesome, then maybe…

Santa smiled to himself and sighed. “Yes, my sunshine boy,” but he offered nothing further, so Armie shrugged and let it go, turning to the tray.

It was laden with a large plate full of an assortment of mouthwatering cookies, from bite-sized chocolate chip to massive, exquisitely soft gingerbread people. There were two large silver mugs with scrolled handles, filled to the brim with the steaming, spiked hot chocolate, as well as some napkins and two glasses of water. _Good idea_ , thought Armie; _man can’t live on sex, cookies, and booze alone_. (Though he can’t honestly say he hasn’t tried in the past.)

They ate, sipped, and chatted about mundane things. Armie had tried asking about the intricacies and minutiae of the North Pole, the elves, the larger building this room was housed in, but Santa had quickly shut that down. Armie, apparently, was just there to mindlessly enjoy himself, and though he was initially taken aback by the secrecy, he decided to let it go and enjoy his unexpected fuckfest with (not so) Old St. Nick. Instead, he regaled Santa with tales of his recent apartment renovation after Santa mentioned offhandedly that he was a huge HGTV fan, and Santa told Armie about his various pets over the years after Armie mentioned how Archie had claimed the sunny corner of the new living room rug for himself.

When they’d eaten and rested sufficiently, mostly gazing quietly up at the stars through the skylight, they took a quick lap around the room, stretching their limbs and working off some of the heaviness they were feeling after pounding way too many cookies and liquored up hot chocolate. Armie found that he was getting quite comfortable parading around this unfamiliar place naked, and just as the thought crossed his mind, he glanced over at Santa and caught the flash of need in his eyes.

Santa grabbed Armie’s wrist and whirled him around, pinning him gently against the wall and murmuring, “Can’t let you walk around all dirty, can we now?” before he leaned in to lick some leftover cookie crumbs out of Armie’s sweaty chest hair. Armie just looked down at him, his mouth hanging open and his eyes glazing over while his cock started to perk back up, inexplicably turned on by this objectively sort of gross display of attraction. Santa moaned and continued to lap at his chest for a minute before he reached down and cupped Armie’s cock, smirking and glancing up at Armie when he found him already filling out.

“Mmmm, sweat and sweet, just how I like it.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few long moments, both becoming increasingly aroused, before Santa had the sense to tug on Armie’s wrist and lead him back down to the bed. The moment they reached the bottom of the steps, Santa grabbed Armie and whirled him around, Armie’s body practically slamming into Santa’s, and they staggered to the bed together, making out the whole way.

Armie sucked on Santa’s lip, his hands splaying over his muscled back. _Fuck_ , Armie was horny, like an animal in heat, panting and sweating and already hard, desperate to have Santa inside him again, and Santa was loving every second of it. Seeing that hungry, expectant look on Armie’s face, his eyes shining and his body almost quivering with how desperate he was for a good hard fuck. They pushed and pulled each other toward the bed, Armie pushing his body into Santa’s, his fist clenched in his soft hair, his tongue searching Santa’s mouth, their hands roaming all over each other.

Armie almost tripped over the rotating platform, but he had the presence of mind to lift his foot when his heel bumped against it, and his backward inertia carried him until the back of his legs hit the bed. Santa grabbed Armie around the waist and tossed him onto the bed, pushing him onto his back, and _jesus_ , Santa was strong. Santa gazed down at him, Armie’s body laid out below him a sight to behold, and he took a moment to appreciate the custom height of the bed before he was moving, sheathing his cock and then lining himself up. Armie barely had his legs on Santa’s shoulders before Santa was pushing into him, urgently but carefully – watching out for his good boy – and Armie let out a primal moan because _shiiiiit that felt incredible_.

Armie was frantic, pulling Santa’s hair in a frenzy, pulling him harder into him, his tongue practically down Santa’s throat. Santa fucked him hard and fast, unable to go slowly if he’d wanted to, and he was thrusting for maybe two minutes when Armie threw his hands over his head to grip the blankets and arched his back, his eyes squeezed shut and his legs tensing, and it felt like a star exploding when he came. Santa continued his frantic thrusts as he leaned down to lick a stripe up Armie’s chest, shining with sweat, and he kept licking until Armie let his body collapse back onto the bed. Santa gave one last hard thrust and let Armie’s still contracting muscles push him over the edge. Armie was barely aware of Santa coming above him, a loud, satisfied moan catching in his throat as he threw his head back in ecstasy.

Armie lay there panting while Santa braced his arms to keep himself from collapsing onto him, dripping sweat and practically gasping for breath as he came down from his orgasm. They were both still panting and sweating a minute or so later when Armie started laughing at the sense of animalistic urgency they’d felt just minutes earlier, and the earth-shattering releases that had followed. He felt so satisfied, lying there sweaty and flushed, and his laughter trailed off slowly with the lingering euphoria.

When he could form actual words, he told Santa that, “That was fucking incredible,” while pushing up onto his elbows. His arms were still shaking slightly with exertion, but he managed to lean up enough to kiss Santa, who looked down at him and smiled in agreement, happy that Armie was obviously so satisfied. Santa reached down to gently pull his now-soft cock out of Armie’s ass, got rid of the condom, and then he gripped him around his waist and heaved him up further onto the bed, crawled up beside him, and pulled him close.

“So what’s the verdict? Good present?” Santa asked, propped up on one elbow and running his other hand slowly up and down Armie’s sweaty torso.

“Wha- a what?”

Santa chuckled affectionately at the confused look on Armie’s face and repeated, “A present. That lovely, charming boyfriend of yours, young Timmy, lord the stories I could tell you about that one. Did you know he once dipped his sister’s hair in paint when she was sleeping? The lad was 5, so it didn’t land him on the naughty list, but by gingerbread was it fun watching the fallout.”

Armie sputtered a little because his brain had only just come fully back online.

“But… Timmy arranged this? Wait. No, but that would mean… shit, _IS THIS REAL??_ ”

“As real as I am, Armie.”

“I… okay but that doesn’t really—”

“SNUGGLEMUFFIN!”

Armie’s head whipped around at the sound of the cringey endearment ringing through the room, tumbling off his boyfriend’s lips with a concerning ease. That was a new one.

Timmy leaned on the railing edging the upper level and smirked, surveying the disaster scene below with a twinkle in his eye. The empty snack tray had been kicked over during their final frenzied fuck, knocking the mugs and plate across the floor; the come-covered blanket from their first fuck was lying crumpled across the rugs; and the pillows Santa had hurriedly thrown every which way in preparation of the spanking were scattered across the floor, including one that had come to rest halfway up the steps. Not to mention the bed itself, which looked like a monsoon had blown through.

“Looks like it’s time for you to go, sweet cheeks.”

“I—but—okay.”

Santa helped Armie unpeel himself from the thoroughly wrecked bedding, and then he picked his way around the scattered pillows and random bits of leftover cookies, realizing halfway to the stairs that he had no clothes to gather up or put on. Since he’d already been naked when he’d woken up there, there was nothing for it. He huffed a breath, squared his shoulders, and climbed the stairs in all his sweaty, cum-crusted, glitter-speckled glory. His utterly and completely spent cock gave a valiant but ultimately futile twitch at the sound of the low, rumbling chuckle coming from his boyfriend as he watched Armie march up the stairs, naked and filthy and forcing himself to pretend there was nothing unusual going on.

Timmy grabbed Armie when he reached the top of the stairs and plastered himself to his boyfriend, running his hands over his back and down to his ass, giving the cheeks a little squeeze. Timmy chuckled and pulled back to appraise Armie’s sticky, sparkling body, observing that, “Fuck, we’re gonna have a time washing all this glitter out of your pubes,” then he stuck his tongue out and licked obscenely up the side of Armie’s face. Timmy reveled in his boyfriend’s oddly sweet-tasting sweat before he attached his lips to Armie’s and sucked his tongue into his mouth, moaning at the lingering taste of sugar and chocolate and whiskey.

Timmy pulled back after a few too-short moments and Armie chased his mouth for a second, his eyes still closed, only catching himself right before he lost his balance and tipped fully into Timmy. Timmy laughed silently, mouth wide and gaping in delight at the dazed look on his boyfriend’s face, and he patted Armie’s cheek playfully, instructing him to, “Say thank you to your host, baby,” with a wink.

“Oh, uh—thank you… Santa. Seriously, I—that was—”

“’Til next year, Santa!” Timmy cut in, rescuing his flailing boyfriend with a sexy salute to the man still splayed naked across the bed. Timmy grabbed a silky black robe hanging beside the door and handed it to Armie, “for the trip home,” watching him pull it on and belt it before he opened the door. “Good present?” he asked, pushing Armie ahead of him out of the room and sending one last wink Santa’s way. 

Right before the door swung shut, Armie’s astounded voice carried back through the room – “Wait, next year?!” – and Santa chuckled, flopping onto his stomach to catch some rest in the wonderfully filthy sheets.

Out in the hallway, which was just as lavishly decorated as the bedroom, Timmy was leading a thunderstruck Armie toward what looked like a Victorian-era elevator halfway down the corridor.

“Wait, Timmy. Did you arrange this to be, like, a _yearly_ thing?”

“Is that a problem? Given,” Timmy gestured up and down Armie’s now sadly covered but still very filthy body, “I assume you enjoyed yourself. Gerald – you met Gerald, right? – he met me when I arrived and told me Santa’s game, so if you’re up for it…” he shrugged and pushed the button to call the elevator, grinning over his shoulder. “And getting you out of the house for a night will give me and Saoirse a chance to reenact your drunk Santa dance that you premiered at the party last night, which you are required to perform at every post-Christmas party from here on out.”

Timmy turned around in time to laugh delightedly at the flush coloring Armie’s face, spreading down his neck, and he nudged him with his shoulder. “Most wonderful time of the year, huh?” He ran his hands up the silky robe covering Armie’s chest and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips before tugging him into the elevator.

**Author's Note:**

> The Santa I picture here is a couple decades older than Armie, large and fit sort of like a lumberjack, jovial, with stylish white hair and beard.  
> If I haven’t destroyed your childhood, comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
